I pulled out my checkbook from my glovebox and made it out for the amount requested. The man came back, the title in hand. “You can make it out to yourself, or whomever,” I offered, holding the check out to him.
He looked it over and nodded, reaching into his shirt pocket for a pen. Using the rag in his back pocket to dry a spot on the damp car, he signed the title over and handed it to me.
“Sure you don’t want to wait until the check clears?” I offered.
“Nope. I know where you live,” he smiled, and we shook hands. I hung out a little longer at the curb, memories creeping back to mind. My uncle had been like another dad to me; maybe because he had no children of his own. He’d lent me the car often, and it always came with a full tank of gas. I wished he was still alive so that I could have driven it over to his house. He’d died while I was in med school; liver cancer. I couldn’t have helped him even if I’d been licensed. He’d delayed seeking help after his diagnosis.
I decided to celebrate with a good cup of java and drove back to my parking space outside of my apartment and went on foot. Coffee Grounds was the most popular café in town for people who knew good coffee and didn’t need the brand name on their Styrofoam cup. I picked up a newspaper from the stand outside its door and pushed inside to the cool interior and the scent of rich coffee beans and fresh baked goods. It had always been one of my favorite places, and I’d missed it while I was in school.
I put in my order and stood to one side waiting and reading the front page. I heard a familiar voice behind me and did a half turn.
It was Mina. She was at a table with a small coffee in front of her and a man across from her whose back was to me. She was sitting on her hands, a gesture of discomfort and desire to be gone. Instantly, I went on alert, not feeling right about the picture before me.
“Sir?”
I turned to see the barista holding out my coffee. As I removed it from his hand, I leaned toward him over the counter and asked in a low voice, “Do you know Mina Stewart?”
The barista nodded and pointed in her direction.
“You know who that is she’s sitting with?”
The young man nodded again and said in a low voice, “That’s David Bretherton.”
I handed him a heavy tip as I paid for my coffee. I decided to take the stool at the counter, keeping my back toward them. I would hang around until I knew that everything was on the up and up. I remembered David as the rich kid who’d made my life hell. You were either in his circle, or you were nobody, and everybody let you know it. My folks never had anywhere near the kind of money his did. I had to work for everything I had. He was content with sailing through life on everything his parents gave him, particularly his status. I never liked him, it was that simple, or at least that’s what I told myself. In all honesty, I had to admit that seeing Mina with him wasn’t sitting well. As I sipped my coffee and pretended to read the paper, I ran a dozen scenarios through my mind that could explain their meeting. I knew he had his dad’s influence in town. Was it possible Mina was somehow under his supervision? Did she owe him something? The best explanation I could come up with was that she was dating him, and that seemed impossible. Other than the fact he had a lot of money, there was nothing about him that was attractive. She could do much better than him. Anyway, she’d never been about the money; she was about the sparks that made life worth living.
I kept my head low, tucked between my shoulder blades and pretended to be absorbed in the stories on the counter before me. Like radar, I managed to note conversations around the room and zoned in on theirs. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but her pitch was a little too high, a little too out of character for her. No matter the excuse I could come up with, I knew her too well. She was very uncomfortable. I considered walking over to their table, greeting her like a long-lost friend and pulling up a companion chair. I realized that if she could have escaped the meeting that easily, she would’ve already done so. It was that asshole, Bretherton. Somehow, he was in the power chair, and I didn’t like it at all.
I was at the point of interfering when I heard the pitch of her voice change. It had turned sing-song, as people’s will when they’re wrapping up a conversation. I was glad that I’d waited, and I chose that moment to slide off my stool and out the door. I waited just around the corner, far enough away that I could see the entrance to Coffee Grounds. Sure enough, a few moments later Mina emerged, David coming out behind her. He exited first and didn’t hold the door for her, it almost slammed her in the face. What an ass!
Mina headed off in the direction of the lake. I assumed she was going to work. Bretherton stood on the sidewalk, watching her as she walked away. Then, in full view of the world, I watched in disgust as his hand lowered and he momentarily fondled himself. My world turned black with hate.
Chapter 5
Mina
Just as I’d expected, it was another roaster of a day. I felt a little sick at my stomach. I told myself it was the heat, but in truth, it was the residue of David Bretherton that clung to me; like the sweat and bitter taste of the fading stomach flu.
I turned the corner around the dune, so my cottage came into view. There was a car in my drive, and I had a déjà vu flashback as I recognized the blue Chevy. I pulled up to the curb and got out. Brice appeared from the car and walked toward me, a smile beaming from his handsome face. What the heck?
“You like?”
“Where on earth did you find it? I’d figured it found its way to a scrapyard years ago.”
His arms went outward in apology. “It’s not the same car, but one just like it. I wondered if you’d remember.”
“How could I forget?” The words flew out of my mouth, and I realized I’d just admitted so much in four words. I knew I blushed, but I think my tan covered it.
“Hey, how about getting in and let’s go get something to eat?”
My mouth went dry. I felt like heck—hot and sickish. On the other hand, the thought of spending an evening with Brice was the most potent medicine I could imagine. “Gee, that sounds good, Brice, but I’m not sure I’m up to it.”
“Why not? Are you sick?”
“No, nothing that dramatic. It’s just been a long day, really hot, and I think it got to me.”
He came toward me and put a hand to my forehead. “You’re a little flushed, but that’s probably the sun. Just ride with me, and if you feel worse, I’ll bring you right back.”
I looked down at my rumpled clothing, and suddenly, my hair felt like a matted wig.
“I promise,” he urged me. “Doctor’s orders.”
I had to laugh at that and decided if I was coming down with something, who better to have in charge? I nodded. “Okay, give me five minutes to change clothes and splash some cold water on my face. I’ll be right out.”
I felt like one of those shoppers given one cart and allowed thirty seconds to pile in as much as they could for free. I tore through my small closet, whipping out options onto the bed. I finally settled on a pale blue sundress with spaghetti straps. I had some new white sandals that would work with it. I started at my face in the bathroom mirror, rivulets of cold water dripping off my burned nose. I looked like shit. Well, if anyone knew me well enough to know I wasn’t at my best, it was Brice. I quickly brushed my teeth, applied a little mascara and grabbed a small white woven clutch, quickly throwing in my keys, wallet and a wad of tissues.
I slid onto the wide bench seat as Brice held the door for me. I felt like I’d stepped back in time and when he climbed in and patted the space next to him, I slid over against him. He smelled great and there was a male energy that emanated from his muscled arm. I felt much better almost immediately.
We drove around town a while and then down the lakeshore on the far side of the pier where the tourists seldom went. The shore there held an assortment of small lakeside industries and the area was in a downturn. The industrial atmosphere had sullied the real estate values.
“A shame,” I murmured, t
he wind from the open windows buffeting my hair around my face. Brice’s hand had moved to my knee but went no further. Dang it! I couldn’t believe my own thoughts. The Brice of yesteryear had transformed.
“It wasn’t this bad when we were kids,” he commented, driving slowly as he studied the decay. “You know, Marcy and I lived here when we were really young. My dad worked for one of the barge companies and we lived right down there on the water. I don’t see the house anymore, guess it’s been torn down and made a part of those businesses.”
“Marcy never mentioned it.”
“Probably not something she wants people to know. She was always a little more sensitive about reputations.”
“Are you?” I put the question to him in honesty and sudden realization.
“Me? Hell, no. Never have cared what anyone thought about me.”
“Know what? I don’t believe you.”
His eyes darted to my face in a sidelong look. “What makes you say that?”
I shrugged and looked out the windshield, avoiding his eyes—those deep brown eyes that could melt me in about three seconds. “I guess you’ve always struck me as being a little deeper than most guys. But, you covered it up because they’d pick on you and it would ruin your bully reputation.”
“My what? What did you call it? Bully reputation?”
There was humor in his voice, but I also heard the self-protectiveness. For that one moment, he had reverted into the young boy I used to know.
“See? I got under your skin, didn’t I?”
Shaking his head, “No, not hardly.”
“Listen to yourself? I’m still under your skin.”
His mouth opened as if he were about to slay me with a quick quip but thought about it and changed his mind. “So, I take it you don’t like bullies? Is that why you pushed me away years ago?”
“Ah, now that’s not entirely fair. If you remember, you were older than me and that made me jailbait.”
He was thoughtful. “True.”
“You also had plans and didn’t need me and my small-town dreams spoiling them.”
“You think you had that kind of power over me?” His voice taunted me.
“Still do,” I said with bravado.
He didn’t answer, but his hand slid a little higher on my knee.
We drove in silence and eventually were downtown, where he turned down an alley and pulled into a private parking place at the back of one of the stores. “Where are we?”
“I know you know the store, but I think what you’re asking is why we’re here. I live up there,” he pointed. “In the apartment over the shop.”
“Really? Why not stay with your folks?”
“Oh, c’mon, Mina, don’t be coy. I’m a little old and a little too professional to be living under my dad’s roof. No, this is just a stopping-off place until I figure out my permanent plans. In the meantime, hey, I’m in the center of the action. I get to smell hotdogs and gyros late into the night and if I lean way out and cock my head, I can see the harbor.”
“Good point. I’m jealous,” I quipped.
“Really?”
“Nope. Just being polite.”
“Well, I’ll just have you know that I happen to have rooftop privileges and there’s a pair of lawn chairs and a grill up there waiting for us. Steaks and baked potatoes?”
“On the roof?”
“Well, that’s the general idea. We can sit up there and spy on all the drunken tourists as they stumble from the bars. I mean, that’s an offer that’s hard to refuse, isn’t it?” He grinned at me.
“You have a point. Okay, you twisted my arm, let’s go.” He held out his hand and escorted me up the narrow staircase against the back of the building. He pulled out his keyring and we were inside.
Inside the rooms were surprisingly large and had high ceilings with deep windows. He was right. I could smell the green peppers grilled with the gyros from the street vendor, even at that lofty altitude. His furniture was simple and sparse; an anti-gravity chair, medium-ish flat screen, a small kitchenette and I guessed his bedroom and bath were through the doorway, but the doors were closed.
“Nice place,” I offered, but it sounded a little snotty.
“Bigger than yours,” he quipped, and I laughed.
“You have a point.” Who was I to argue size? I hoped he was huge. Mentally, I slapped myself across the cheek. Why was it every time I came near him, all I could think about was sex? That didn’t say much for my fourth-grade teacher ethics.
“So, how about something to drink?”
“Sure, whatever you have.”
“I think this calls for a little wine,” he said, pulling a bottle from a rack built in beneath the cupboard. He fished around in a drawer for a corkscrew and was soon pouring the tart, fruity liquid into a pair of goblets. He handed me one and we each took a sip.
“Mmm, that’s good,” I said, trying to be a good guest. In all honesty, I wasn’t fond of alcohol, but sometimes when simple little just to be polite.
“You don’t drink do you?” he asked, watching my expression.
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Good. Neither do I,” he said, reaching for my goblet and pouring the wine into the sink. He propped open the door of the fridge and handed me a bottle of iced water.
“Thanks,” I grinned with a nod.
“Now then,” he began, opening his fridge again and pulling out two steaks and a pair of baking potatoes. “I’m going to head up onto the roof and light the grill and be right back.”
“Can I help with something?”
He nodded and pointed to the fridge. “You’ll find some things to make a salad in there. If you want to do that, that would be great.” Before he went up to the roof, he placed the potatoes in the microwave and punched buttons until the turntable began rotating and the fan made a whirring noise. He looked at me and shrugged, “Not exactly a chef’s kitchen, but it gets the job done.” He smiled suddenly and leaned forward, planting a kiss on my cheek. He took a second look at me, then reached back into the drawer and pulled out a box of kitchen matches before heading out a small door that I assumed led to an outdoor staircase for the roof.
I smiled with the domestic contentment of a woman who feels at home in her man’s domain. Okay, so maybe it was a little preliminary, but a girl could dream. I busied myself making the salads, leaving the cupboard doors open a little longer than necessary so I could quickly spy and see how he lived. I was ashamed of myself but excused my behavior by telling myself it paid to be alert. I opened drawers, looking for a knife but instead, found his junk drawer. My fingertip, all on its own, I swear, went into the drawer and casually pushed a few things aside so I could get a better look.
“Spying, are we?” I was so intent on my actions that he’d sneaked in behind me. I jerked my finger back as though it had been burned and with a deep flush of embarrassment I turned to look at him.
“I could tell you that I was looking for a knife because I really was, but it wouldn’t be the whole truth. I found your junk drawer and was curious.”
He gave a little half-shrug and looked away from me, heading toward the steaks he laid on the counter. “If there’s something you’d like to know, feel free to ask or, in your case, have a look around.”
I was mortified. It wasn’t at all what it seemed, or at least I wanted to believe that. I felt really trashy. “Brice, I’m sorry. I should never have done that.”
He whirled to look at me, his face stern for a few moments which made my heart sink. In the next breath, he broke into a wide grin. “Caught you and now you’re embarrassed, aren’t you? Well, don’t worry. I’d do the same thing if you left me on my own in your kitchen, I guess. And since we're on the topic of transparency, I saw you with your companion this morning.”
Companion? Who was he referring to? All the people on the beach? That’s when it hit me. “Should I guess that you were getting coffee?”
He nodded solemnly. “I couldn’
t help but hear the tone of your conversation, I wasn’t sitting that far away. I didn’t listen to what you said, but how you said it and, you didn’t sound as though you were having a good time.”
I shook my head. “No, you’re right. I would’ve rather been a hundred other places, even here, but he’s on the school board and I didn’t have a choice.”
“Even here? What’s that mean?”
“Crap! That didn’t sound very good, did it? I only meant that well damn! I’m just going to say it outright. The last time I saw you, back when I was still in high school, you were really a jerk to me. Maybe I had it coming, and maybe I didn’t. The point is, you’ve changed. The jerk grew up.”
“Why, thank you. I think.”
“I feel like I’m digging a hole for myself. First of all, that was a compliment. I don’t happen to like jerks, especially when I work for them,” I said, referring to David. “I don’t think you’re a jerk anymore and as a matter of fact, I’m enjoying, well, all this,” I said, motioning to the room around us. “So, when I said I’d rather be even here, I meant that I would rather have been here than there. In both situations, I’m in the company of a guy and not in my home territory, you understand? It always makes a girl a little nervous.”
“Are you nervous being here?”
“I’m making a real mess of this, aren’t I?”
He nodded without saying anything. He turned back to the counter and the plate with the steaks he was seasoning. “How do you like yours?”
“My what?”
He turned back toward me, put the seasoning shaker down with a thump and closed the space between us. His hand came up to cradle my chin and his arm went around to the space between my shoulder blades. His eyes impaled mine and then he bent to kiss me, not just once, but a hundred delicious kisses all packed into a full half minute. My knees buckled, and I was glad to have the counter behind me.
“Wow,” I said smoothly when he finally broke away. “Where did you learn to kiss like that?”
He didn’t answer but pulled me back against his chest and began kissing my entire face, beginning with my forehead, down to my earlobes and over my throat before stopping once again on my lips. To use an old-timey phrase, I swooned. I turned to mush on the spot. All my resolve, all my caution, all my traditional morals went right into a pile on the floor.
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